


treat me like fire (babe)

by Evoxine



Series: fire bright, fire fight. [1]
Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: Alternative Universe - FBI, Case Fic, Everyone else rolls with it, Jongin gives no shits about his safety, M/M, Sehun is a potty mouth
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-06
Updated: 2018-01-06
Packaged: 2019-03-01 01:12:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,678
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13283790
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Evoxine/pseuds/Evoxine
Summary: Sehun spends most of his life worried for his life, because Jongin is an overzealous cop that likes to do things in the most dangerous way imaginable. Somehow, they manage to solve cases and come out with their heads intact – that is, until they finally catch a lead on a cold case and things start going south.Somewhere along the way, feelings become too much to handle. With enough pressure, all dams eventually break.





	treat me like fire (babe)

“Stay the fuck down,” Sehun snaps irritably as he reaches around for the set of handcuffs clipped to his belt. “Move again and I’ll break your damned arm.”

A few feet away, Minho's got their secord perp pinned to the hood of his car, a large hand gripping the guy’s wrists as the handcuffs swing shut around them. He passes the guy off to one of the MPDC cops and tosses a glance over his shoulder, snorting when he sees Sehun yank the guy up by the neck.

“One day,” he says, “you’re gonna accidentally break someone’s neck.”

“No I won’t,” Sehun says, shoving the guy forward. Another cop catches him and stuffs him into the back of a cruiser. “That’ll be Jongin. And it wouldn’t be an accident.”

Speak of the devil; Jongin strolls out of the pawn shop, two large Ziploc bags dangling from his grip. “Got the coke,” he announces. Johnny walks out behind him, slipping a Beretta 92 into an evidence bag. “And the murder weapon.”

“Great,” Sehun says, nursing his sore jaw. The fucker had punched him in the face before Sehun had been able to subdue him with a knee to the stomach – it’s gonna bruise, and it’s gonna be an ugly one.

Jongin walks up to him, pinches his chin between two gloved fingers, and rotates Sehun’s head to the left.

“That’ll bruise,” he informs Sehun. Sehun rolls his eyes and slaps Jongin’s hand away.

“Wow,” he says dryly. “Shocker.”

Jongin just grins at him. They’ve been partners for the past three years now, ever since the formation of the special FBI task force designed to help sort through the increasing volume of high priority cases (read: drugs, terrorism, murder, etc.). Being partnered with Kim Jongin, a detective brought in from NYPD, has been an… experience, to say the very least. Sehun’s pretty sure that spending so many hours a day with Jongin has shaved years off of his already short life.

The guy’s reckless, with an adrenaline problem and a penchant for danger. He likes to charge into dangerous situations with nary a plan, tends to forgo backup, and thrives on the use of anything that explodes. Sehun doesn’t exactly follow the rulebook either, but Jongin takes it to a whole new level. And _somehow_ , he manages to escape unscathed. Well, most of the time, anyway.

“Alright, boys and girls.” Hani’s voice crackles through the earpieces. “No time to go off pissin’ in bushes –” Seulgi packs away her rifle and sends a _what the fuck is she on?_ look to Minho, who barks out a laugh, “– because we’ve got another case. Shots fired near Dupont Circle; Connecticut and Florida. According to first responder reports, there are two armed men.”

“Holy shit,” Sehun mutters. “I just want to sit down for ten minutes, grab ten espressos, and maybe ice my jaw. Is that too much to ask for?”

“You’re clearly high maintenance,” Jongin says, patting Sehun on the shoulder sympathetically. Sehun punches him in the chest.

 

 

 

  
The team shuffles back into the bullpen, exhausted and in need of long, hot showers. Minho is the first to depart, grabbing his backpack and hightailing it out of there with a single _bye!_ yelled to the rest of the team. Johnny and Seulgi follow – they carpool to and from work everyday.

Unfortunately for Sehun, since he’s the best at sorting out paperwork, he has to stay back for another 45 minutes or so to fill out the damned forms and place them on Minseok’s desk. Without a single word, he pulls out his chair, settles down, and gets to work. He hears Jongin packing up, hears him go to the bathroom, hears him open the fridge. Then, something icy cold comes into contact with his jaw, and he nearly stabs his partner in the eye with his pen.

“Jesus _fucking_ – you need to stop doing that shit,” Sehun yells.

“Not my fault you scare easily,” Jongin says, shrugging. He’s still got the ice pack pressed to Sehun’s face. “Ice your damn jaw.”

Muttering under his breath about partners that give him heart attacks, Sehun grabs the ice pack and shifts it to a better angle against his throbbing skin. It’s nice, he thinks, the pain already starting to ebb away thanks to the cold.

“Go home,” he says, scribbling away. “It’s been a long day. I can take a cab back if you want to take the car.”

“I know it’s been a long day,” Jongin replies, resting his hip against Sehun’s desk. “Leave those for tomorrow.”

“They won’t take long,” Sehun says. “Just –”

“If you stay to finish this,” Jongin interrupts, “you’ll be going to bed without dinner. Because by the time you get home, all you’ll want to do is shower and pass out. So no, i’m not leaving you here. I’m going to make sure you get some food in you before making sure you go home and not come back to the damn office to finish the stupid paperwork. Now, get up and let’s go.”

Leaning back in his chair, Sehun slants his eyes towards his partner’s face. Jongin’s looking back at him with his Don’t Give Me Any Bullshit face, so Sehun caps his pen and rises to his feet.

“Alright, fine.” he says. “Let’s go.”

Jongin catches the car keys that Sehun tosses at him easily, and they head out of the building in weary silence.

 

 

 

  
When the alarm starts screaming bloody murder at 5:30 in the morning, Sehun flings an arm out and slaps it shut with practiced aim. He rolls over with a pained sigh and sits up slowly, digging the heels of his hands into his eyes. Sleep clings stubbornly to his every move, but Sehun manages to find the will to force himself out of bed. He brushes his teeth robotically and changes into a pair of sweatpants.

At 5:45 a.m., Sehun’s locking his door behind him, earphones snug in his ears and running shoes laced up tight. He sets off, feet pushing off the ground steadily as he sets a decent pace.

The sun’s just starting to rise when he gets home, 5 miles under his belt in a little over 35 minutes. He takes an ice cold shower, sets his coffee maker to brew as he changes into something a little more formal. He’s slapping together a quick breakfast bagel when he hears his house alarm beep once, then twice.

“I’m here!” Jongin hollers, and Sehun winces at the sheer volume.

“Are you trying to wake the whole damn block?” Sehun hisses, coffee mug halfway to his lips. Jongin shoots him an unimpressed look and reaches for a clean mug. As Jongin fixes himself a cup of coffee – black, two sugars –, Sehun finishes his breakfast, plops his mug into the sink, and slips his gun into his holster.

“Let’s go,” Sehun says, and Jongin drains the rest of his coffee in two mouthfuls.

They’re out the door by 6:45 a.m., like clockwork.

Sehun manages to finish the paperwork before Minseok arrives, placing the folder down on their SSA’s desk when he walks into his office.

“Thanks,” Minseok says, settling into his seat gingerly.

Three years ago, Minseok had his knee blown to pieces during a drug bust. Although he’s completed his physical training, his knee will never be as good as new. It aches regularly, and high-impact running is almost sure to bring on pain. So, he’d accepted a promotion to Supervisory Special Agent in compensation for… desk duty.

“Yeah,” Sehun says, giving him a polite nod before turning around to leave the office.

“Hey,” Minseok says, stopping Sehun in his tracks, "any updates on that serial case?”

“None,” Sehun replies. “But we’re working on it. I’ll let you know if we get anything.”

Minseok sighs, but dismisses Sehun with a wave of his hand.

 

 

 

  
The team’s busy when Sehun returns to his desk; Jongin’s following up on a possible lead on the Nakano case (Sehun doesn’t have high hopes – all of them have led to dead ends thus far), Seulgi’s arguing with a public defender and Minho and Johnny are discussing infiltration formations.

He settles into his chair and gets started on sorting through the files piled up on his desk. The mundane task helps him zone out for a while, but he’s snapped back to reality when his phone – and everyone else’s – starts ringing.

“Gear up my babies!” Hani sing-songs. “Homicide’s just been called in. Crime scene’s at 9th and Barry. Techs and the ME have been sent out.”

Chairs drag across the carpeted floor as the team gets up, grabbing their necessary items – their guns and credentials. They’re out the door and in the elevator within a minute, splitting up in the garage.

“How’s the jaw?” Jongin asks, starting the engine. Sehun fastens his seat belt and grimaces.

“Tender,” he says. “But it’s fine.”

Jongin peels out of the parking lot, Minho hot on their heels.

“At least nothing broke,” Jongin points out. “Would’ve been sad to see your pretty face fucked up.”

Sehun snorts, turning to look out the window.

“If anyone were to fuck up my face, it’ll probably be you.”

The car swerves as Jongin executes a sharp turn.

“The hell is that supposed to mean?” Jongin demands, although they’ve been over this a thousand times in the past few years.

“It means that you have a death wish, and that you love to drag me into it,” Sehun says, on auto pilot. He grips the door handle with unnecessary force when Jongin floats in-between lanes.

"You’re my partner,” Jongin says, “of course I have to drag you with me.”

“I need a new partner,” Sehun sighs.

“You always say that, and yet you never actually submit a request for one,” Jongin says, grinning. Sehun rolls his eyes.

 

 

 

  
Curious civilians are swarming the area by the time they pull up to the crime scene. Ducking under the tape, they flash their credentials and head into the building. Sehun’s snapping on gloves when the rest of the team arrive.

“It’s a dorm,” Seulgi notes, looking around. “Door’s been busted in.”

“Yeah,” Sehun says, rifling through the papers on the desk. “Vic is a student; 23 years of age by the name of Ted Stevenson.”

“Stabbed in the neck once,” Jongin says, hunching over the body. “Shallower stab wounds all over the torso. Talk about overkill.”

“Knock knock.”

Sehun lifts his head and smiles at Sunny. The medical examiner sends him a wink in return as she strides into the room. Jongin backs away from the body and gives her space to do her thing.

“He’s got a stamp on the back of his hand,” Jongin points out. “I’ll get a picture and send it to Hani, see if –”

“It’s Liv,” Minho interjects. “11th and U.”

“Thanks, Mr. Party Boy,” Jongin says as he hits speed dial. Two rings later, Hani picks up. “Hey, can you check the street cams around Liv Nightclub? Our vic is approximately 5 foot 11, 155 pounds, brunette. Check out who he went with, who he left with, who might’ve followed him. You know the drill.”

“Gotcha,” she says, and hangs up.

“Time is death is approximately 7 hours ago,” Sunny announces, peering up at the team through her glasses. “Cause of death is likely exsanguination; the stab wound punctured the carotid, and judging from the amount of blood around him, he probably bled out in a couple of minutes. I’ll have more for you once I conduct a thorough examination back at the lab.”

“There’s nothing to indicate that it’s a robbery,” Sehun murmurs, “nor are there any drugs apart from a couple of squished blunts in the drawer. Whoever killed this guy had it out for him for personal reasons.”

“Not a jilted lover,” Seulgi adds. “No pictures around that suggest he’s in a relationship. Judging from his social media accounts, he hasn’t been in one for about a year, and he seems to be on pretty decent terms with his most recent ex.”

“Alright, let’s take his laptop and phone back with us. We’ll notify next of kin on the way back.”

 

 

 

  
“You coming in tonight?” Sehun asks, a hand on the door handle.

It’s become a tradition of sorts, for Jongin to have dinner at Sehun’s place after work. On Thursdays, they pig out on (frozen) pizza and beer and take the time to unwind in front of some reruns. They have a lot of traditions, and for the both of them, this is one of the most important ones.

“Yep,” Jongin answers. “Just let me call my sister real quick.”

Nodding, Sehun gets out of the car and heads into the house, leaving the door ajar for Jongin. He disarms the alarm – Jongin will reactivate it when he enters. The oven’s just starting to heat up when Sehun hears the door shut and the keypad of the alarm beep.

Grabbing two bottles of beer out of his fridge, Sehun pops the caps against the marble countertop and slides one over to his partner wordlessly. They’ve done this so many times that they could probably do it blindfolded and gagged.

“Let me see,” Jongin says, walking up to Sehun and flooding into his personal space. When Jongin reaches up to touch, Sehun nudges him away with a hand to the chest, not unkindly.

“I’m fine,” he groans. “Just a bruise.”

“It’s a pretty bad bruise,” Jongin tells him. “You’re gonna get all splotchy.”

“Whatever, it’s not like I have anyone to impress,” Sehun shrugs, leaning against the counter. The gun on his hip digs uncomfortably into him, but he ignores it. His fingers curl around the sweating neck of his beer, and he takes a long drag of the beverage.

They nurse their beers quietly, Sehun getting up to slide the pizza into the oven when it beeps.

“Hey,” Jongin begins. “I, uh, got a call from my boss back in New York.”

Sehun looks up sharply. “And?”

“They want me back,” Jongin says.

Something starts winding tightly around Sehun’s lungs, but he fights through it and wills himself to breathe.

“What did you say?”

“I said now’s not the time.” Jongin’s eyes have that look in them – the one that expresses concern, the one that Sehun really fucking hates.

“Right. So when exactly _is_ the time?”

“I don’t know,” Jongin admits. “When this task force is no longer required? If something better comes along in New York? If something here pushes me back? I won’t know until it happens.”

When Sehun says nothing, Jongin exhales.

“Look, I know you don’t like change –”

“My preferences shouldn’t be affecting any of your life decisions,” Sehun interrupts.

“Hey,” Jongin says, voice a little stronger. “I’m just saying. I know you don’t cope well when people in your life, people you’ve let into your circle, leave you unexpectedly. Which is why I’m telling you this now. _Just in case_ I choose to return. But that’s not happening any time soon, alright?”

“Fine,” Sehun says shortly.

Jongin sighs.

“You know, sometimes, I don’t really know how you feel about me.”

He picks up his half-finished beer and disappears out into the veranda. Sehun watches him go with a clenched jaw – the twinge of pain just further aggravates him – and lets his head fall back against the cupboard with a thud.

That’s just the problem, isn’t it? Sehun’s been in love with his partner for over a year now, and god, having to deal with that every _fucking_ day just drives Sehun right up the wall. It doesn’t help that Jongin’s a great person and great eye-candy. It doesn’t help that he’s the only person Sehun meshes this well with. 

Sehun swears at himself and drains the bottle.

 

 

 

  
They head into work the next day and spot Sunny’s autopsy report already waiting for them on Sehun’s desk.

“Thirteen post-mortem stab wounds to the guy’s torso,” Jongin reads over Sehun’s shoulder. “Oh, dude used a switchblade.”

“Can you not?” Sehun says, frowning at Jongin. “You’re breathing all over me.”

“We spend literally every day of our lives with each other – you rely on me to keep you alive, but I can’t breathe on you?!”

“It’s gross, okay,” Sehun starts. Minho exchanges a look with Seulgi, but neither of them comment on it. Seulgi, however, decides to say something before it leads to a full out squabbling session.

“So, thirteen stabs, huh?” Seulgi comments, picking at a hangnail. “Someone’s angry as shit.”

Sehun gives Jongin one last glare before turning back to the report. Jongin rolls his eyes and drops into his chair.

“Sunny found some DNA under the vic’s nails,” Sehun says, eyes scanning the report. “No match on any database.”

Right then, their phones ring.

“I think she’s bugged our office,” Johnny remarks, looking down at Hani’s name on the screen of his phone. “She always has such great timing.”

 

 

 

  
Music is blasting from Hani’s office – as per usual –, but the second the door swings open, the music stops. She’s got everything in her office wired up to her sound system: if the door opens while she’s inside, the music stops. If her phone rings, the music stops. If one of the dozen searches she’s got going on in the background gets a hit, the music stops.

“Gather ‘round, kids. It’s storytime.”

She points at one of her screens with a manicured nail. “This is our vic, entering the nightclub at 11:39 p.m. on Wednesday night. As you can see, he came alone. Now, he doesn’t leave the establishment until 2:33 a.m. While he waits for a cab, this guy exits.” Hani hits a button on her keyboard and the video stops. Another click of her mouse, and the video zooms in.

“Now, I don’t have a clear shot of his face, and the quality’s too shitty for me to try and blow it up. But! This guy grabs a cab right after our vic gets into one, and tails him all the way back to his dorm.”

“We need to get footage from inside the club,” Minho says. “We need to figure out why Stevenson was targeted.”

“Another thing,” Hani says. “The suspect wore a cap that has a company logo on it. I’m already running a search on it. I’ll let you know when I get a hit.”

“Thanks, Hani. Great work,” Sehun says, already walking out of Hani’s office. “Now come on, asshole, let’s go get the footage we need.”

“Call me an asshole one more time and I’ll _make sure_ you get carsick!” Jongin yells after his partner.

 

 

 

  
Sehun’s dragged out of dreamland by his phone.

“Hello?” He rasps, eyes still tightly shut. What he hears next wakes him right up. “Okay, I’ll be there in fifteen. No, you don’t have to get the others. We can process it ourselves.”

Exactly five minutes later, he walks out of his house dressed and decently alert, and climbs into his own car. It’s a little musty, as it hasn’t been driven in ages, and Sehun rolls down the windows to let the interior air out. Sehun only ever drives his car when he heads into work without Jongin, something that only happens in specific situations – when a case pops up outside of their regular working hours, or when it’s an emergency and he needs to get somewhere as soon as possible.

You see, Sehun doesn’t drive when Jongin is around for one perfectly good reason. His previous partner had died in a car accident three years ago; and Sehun had been at the wheel. It wasn’t his fault – a drunk driver ploughed through a red light and t-boned them, killing his partner instantly. The incident had affected Sehun so much that he refuses to be behind the wheel whenever there’s someone else in the car with him. He’s perfectly okay with being responsible for his own life, but he doesn’t think he can handle the possibility of someone else he cares about dying when he’s the one driving.

That’s why Jongin always drives. They took turns driving during the first few weeks of their partnership, but Jongin had easily picked up on the tension that settled on Sehun’s shoulders whenever he slid behind the wheel. It didn’t take a lot of wheedling for Sehun to tell him why. After that, Jongin simply took over the car, never complaining about the set-up, not even when he’s exhausted and wants to doze off in the passenger’s seat.

When Sehun pulls up to the crime scene, he sees the black Cadillac – agency issued – parked (horribly) by the sidewalk. Jongin’s already here. The cop posted at the perimeter waves him in, and Sehun heads inside the building.

“What do we have?” He says, nodding at the cops standing by the door.

“Take a look,” Jongin replies, passing Sehun a pair of gloves.

A single glance at the body tells Sehun everything he needs to know.

“Looks like yesterday’s vic, doesn’t it?” He says, kneeling down and moving the victim’s head slightly to the side. A single stab wound to the neck.

“Yeah; roughly the same height, weight, and hair colour. Same M.O. Guy went to the same club too.”

Their observations are echoed by Sunny, who seems even smaller when she’s sleepy.

“So our perp has a type,” Jongin says, as they make their way back to their cars. “I doubt it’s a coincidence.”

“Probably not,” Sehun agrees. “Hopefully something from the camera footage we got from the club will provide some clues.”

Jongin yawns and opens the car door.

“If you want to sleep in,” Sehun says, “I can drive to work myself.”

“It’s alright. I’ll come get you. You get some rest, yeah?”

With that, Jongin drives away with a wave.

 

 

 

  
Seulgi’s the only one in the bullpen by the time Sehun and Jongin get to the office.

“They’re in interrogation,” Seulgi informs them before they even open their mouths to ask. “Someone came in claiming to know who killed our two university students, so Minho took our favourite rookie with him to talk to her.”

“Her?”

“Yep,” Seulgi nods, rubbing at her eyes. “Young female, probably a university student as well. Saw a news report on the murders. Think she said her name was Yvonne Grimmer.”

“I can already guess where this is headed,” Jongin comments, setting his bag down on his desk before following Sehun out of the bullpen and towards the interrogation rooms.

“Oh yeah,” Sehun agrees. “Jealous boyfriend or ex-boyfriend, probably.”

Sure enough, they watch through the one-way mirror as the blonde-haired, blue-eyed woman tearily tells Minho and Johnny about her ex-boyfriend. She had cheated on him with another guy who matches the description of their two victims – her ex had walked in on them a couple months ago, but according to her, never got a proper look at the guy before he ran out. They’d broken up right then and there, and she’d just started going out to clubs after “laying low” for a few weeks.

“I think he’s been following me,” she says, sniffling. “Those two dead guys? Yeah I’ve danced with them and stuff at the club. Made out with them, maybe he saw us and got really mad?”

Minho simply looks at her, thinly veiled judgement radiating off his large frame. “Right. Name and address, please.”

 

 

 

  
“Please don’t charge inside like a psychotic bull,” Sehun says, reaching for his gun and getting into position. “This guy’s clearly emotionally unstable and highly dangerous. I would like my partner to not be bleeding out all over me; my shirts don’t come cheap.”

“Oof,” Jongin says, hand pressed to his chest. “You know just how to hurt me.”

Sehun presses his lips together. “Seriously.”

“Yeah, yeah. I’ll stick with you, alright?”

“We’re in position,” Minho’s voice says.

“Okay,” Jongin says. “On three.”

Both front and back doors fly off their hinges on Jongin’s shout of _three_. Jongin swings around the doorframe, Sehun hot on his heels, and they find Adam Jamieson in the middle of springing up from his couch.

“FBI,” Sehun says, weapon trained on the guy’s face. “Get on your knees and put your hands where we can see them. Don’t try anything silly, or my partner here will gladly punch your face in.”

The second Adam catches sight of Jongin, he tenses and his fingers ball up into fists. Jongin doesn’t notice, distracted with the other three entering the house. But Sehun sees the rage filling up in the perp, rising up past his eyeballs, so he takes a subtle step in front of Jongin and aims the gun at the guy’s head.

“Give me one reason,” he says quietly. Adam sneers, but slowly gets on his knees.

“Clear,” Seulgi declares, walking out of a room and holstering her weapon. “You guys gotta see this.”

Sehun follows her into the bedroom, Jongin joining them after making sure Johnny’s cuffed the guy and is standing watch over him.

“Jesus,” Jongin utters, staring at the wall. It’s covered with pictures of Yvonne, some taken with Adam when they were still together, and some taken from what is probably his phone from far away. “He’s made a wallpaper with her face.”

“Found the switchblade,” Minho says, walking inside. He cringes at the wall. “I’ll have techs run a test for blood, and I’ll get Hani to cross-check this guy’s credit cards with the club.”

“This is our guy,” Sehun says, gloved hands resting on his hips. “No doubt.”

Everyone looks over at him, questioning.

“The way he looked at you,” Sehun says, jerking his chin in Jongin’s direction. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but you fit the description of our vics. Same height, weight, hair colour. Different race, sure, but like Yvonne said, he didn’t get a good look at the guy she was sleeping with, so I doubt race plays a strong part in this.”

“I didn’t notice,” Jongin admits.

“How is it that _you_ are considered one of the best detectives in NYPD?” Sehun asks, but there’s no malice in his tone. Jongin grins at him.

“I make the ladies talk.”

Seulgi snorts loudly and leaves the room, making sure to step on Jongin’s toes when she walks by.

 

 

 

  
They get a bit of downtime after that case.

After a few days of no active cases, Minseok lets them all go home early on a Friday night. The team cheers in unison as they leave the office, giving Minseok some big grins as they walk past his office.

“Wanna grab dinner?” Seulgi suggests, spinning her car keys around her index finger. “There’s this new fusion restaurant not far from here, and I’ve been planning to go for the past few weeks.”

“I’m down,” Johnny says, and everyone else takes turns to voice their assent.

“Great!” Seulgi grins, “let’s get there before the dinner rush hits then, yeah?”

They manage to get a table after waiting for 20 minutes (which isn’t too bad, considering), and they have a good time. Seulgi steals food off of everyone’s plates, but the men willingly indulge her, and by the end of the meal, she’s so stuffed that she can barely breathe.

“I’m coming back here,” she informs them, wincing as she places a hand over her stomach. “So good.”

“You remind me of Sehun on one of his Junk Food Sundays,” Jongin says, slinging an arm over the back of Sehun’s chair. “Especially when he gets those brownies from Pizza Hut – you know, the big box with like, nine pieces in them?”

“Hey!” Sehun cries, smacking Jongin in the chest with the back of his hand. “That’s private information.”

“I have pictures of his belly,” Jongin mock-whispers. “Contrary to popular belief, those abs _can_ be hidden.”

“You’re a shit,” Sehun says, taking a swig of his beer. “Why am I friends with you?”

“Please,” Jongin snorts, “you love me. We all know that.”

When Sehun doesn’t respond to that after a few heavy seconds, Minho clears his throat and turns to Johnny, asking the rookie a bunch of questions that effectively shift the conversation onto Johnny’s guilty pleasure that is Dragonball Z.

Thankful that the proverbial spotlight is no longer shining down on him, Sehun settles back into his seat and listens as the rest of his team fall into easy banter and laughter. He speaks up when he should, laughs when appropriate, but otherwise stays quiet, choosing to enjoy the subtle heat of Jongin’s arm against the width of his shoulders.

When the topic of conversation shifts onto Jongin’s love for unnecessarily heartstopping risks (read: jumping off an overpass onto a moving vehicle below, barging into a potentially rigged house without checking for trip wires, tossing a grenade into a shop just to force a perp out, etc.), he gets a little more vocal. But ultimately, he lets Jongin carry the conversation, his partner’s affronted tone amusing to his ears.

It’s only when Seulgi’s eyes start drooping do they vacate their table.

“I’ll drive her home,” Minho says, trying his best to stifle a laugh when Seulgi lets out a little snore from her seat.

“Make sure she gets in alright,” Sehun says, and bids Johnny goodbye before following Jongin out into the parking lot.

They’re halfway to Sehun’s place when Jongin breaks the silence.

“Hey, I won’t be able to come in later. I made plans with someone.”

“You made plans,” Sehun repeats. “Yeah, okay. No problem.”

Jongin barely slows down at a stop sign before speeding up again. “Raincheck, yeah?”

“Mhm,” Sehun answers, elbow resting on the edge of the window as he runs fingers through his hair. The wax is starting to lose its hold on his hair, and strands are beginning to fall into his eyes.

“You okay?”

“Yeah, just tired.”

He can feel Jongin’s eyes on him, but he doesn’t look away from the window. After a few minutes, they’re turning into the driveway of his house, and Sehun all but scrambles out of the car the second Jongin lets up on the accelerator.

“Have fun on your date,” Sehun says, injecting false cheer into his voice. “I’ll see you at work.”

“What? Sehun, wait, it’s not –”

The door slams shut at a satisfying volume, and Sehun’s already inside his house before Jongin can even finish his sentence.

 

 

 

  
Johnny’s faceplanted onto his desk when Sehun walks in, coffee in hand.

“What’s up with you?”

“M’body hurts,” Johnny says, voice muffled.

“Why..?”

“Minho,” Johnny whines, as if that answers the question completely. It pretty much does; Special Agent Choi loves brawling it out at the gym a few blocks down, and he’s been trying to convince Johnny to check it out.

“Kickboxing?” Sehun guesses, settling into his chair and rolling it over to Johnny’s table. The men at that gym are very good at what they do, and they’re brutal. Sehun knows – he goes there occasionally to spar and work on his jujutsu.

“Nghhhh,” is Johnny’s reply. Sehun grins.

When Johnny finally raises his head, Sehun winces visibly at the bruises blooming from the guy’s cheek down past the neckline of his shirt.

“That’s not supposed to happen,” he says. “What did you do?”

“The whole thing was a disaster,” Johnny bemoans. “I don’t wanna talk about it.”

Jongin takes that moment to walk in, and Sehun stiffens when he feels his partner honing in on him. He’d woken up that day not feeling quite up to the task of carpooling, so he’d left in his own car. He may or may not have remembered to inform his partner of that decision.

“What the fuck,” Jongin starts, “I got to your house and you weren’t fucking there. I thought someone had kidnapped you or some shit. Why did – holy _shit_ , Johnny.”

It’s the perfect time to escape, so while Johnny recounts his torturous kickboxing session with Minho yet again, Sehun takes the chance to scoot back over to his desk and bury himself in paperwork. It works, for the most part. He can still feel Jongin’s annoyed gaze on the side of his face, but Jongin leaves him to work.

Then, Minseok comes walking into the bullpen with a grim look on his face. Sehun sits up straighter, already feeling apprehensive. It takes him a few seconds to realize that it’s the end of the month.

“More bodies have been found in another abandoned warehouse. Five in total.”

 

 

 

  
This particular case has been unsolved for four months now, and the higher-ups are starting to breathe down their necks, demanding for an arrest, for the case to be shut. Since March, multiple bodies have been found in abandoned warehouses all over the city. The bodies only surface once at the end of each month.

Every person they identify turns out to have been reported missing, either for mere days or for months. What’s more, every body is decorated with a gut-churning amount of bruises and cuts – it’s more unusual to find a body _without_ a broken bone. They’d determined, through comparing bruise patterns with the size and spacing of the victims’ knuckles, that the wounds were caused by other victims – in other words, they’re dealing with an underground fight club, one that fights to the death. It had taken the team an embarrassingly long time to figure out an explanation for the lack of a consistent M.O., but once they got over that, they’ve been… stuck. They’ve had no solid suspects, forensics had been unable to find anything that might lead them to whoever runs the fight club, and trying to track down all the missing people in the city is just ridiculously inefficient. So yeah, they’re as stuck as ants in a pool of honey.

Seulgi sighs as they duck under the police tape, vocalizing what everyone else on the team is feeling with a single heavy exhale.

“Not looking forward to the blowback of this case,” Minho mutters. “We’re gonna get so much shit from the higher-ups.”

“Ignore them,” Sehun says, snapping on his gloves. “All those fuckers can do is sit back on their asses, complain, and demand results while we’re out here actively trying to catch sadistic assholes. The whole goddamn world isn’t giving us a _single_ break, and yet they –”

Jongin’s hand wraps around Sehun’s forearm, and Sehun falls silent.

They walk inside, the old warehouse smelling damp and musty. There are five bodies lying haphazardly in the middle, and it doesn’t take a genius to realize that the dark splotches all over the floor are bloodstains.

“Fucking hell,” Sehun mutters, squatting down by one of the bodies. This guy’s nose is clearly broken, and the degree of bruising down his side suggests more than a few broken ribs. There’s a deep laceration in his abdomen, and he’s got a dislocated knee.

“Sunny’s gonna have her work cut out for her,” Seulgi mumbles, wincing as she peers down at another vic’s mangled face. “Holy shit, he’s lost almost all of his teeth.”

When Sehun rises, Jongin joins him and they start walking around the scene, looking out for anything that might provide them with even the smallest lead. They just want _something_.

“I got nothing,” Jongin sighs, after their third canvas of the area.

He’s half-expecting Sehun to say the same, but when he doesn’t get a response, he turns around to find his partner looking at something in his hand.

“What’s that?”

“I think,” Sehun says slowly, turning a small slip of translucent paper over his hands, “that this is the daimon of a new Yakuza clan. Well, half of the daimon, anyway.”

He passes the paper to Jongin, who squints down at it and manages to make out what look like one half of a face, complete with the eye and very sharp teeth. The ink is a dark blue, and the paper seems very fragile.

“Rice paper,” Sehun supplies. “And I believe that is an oni mask. Oni are said to be demons that punish the wicked. Their methods aren’t pretty, and they apparently enjoy human flesh. In Japan, many yakuza get tattoos of oni masks simply because it fits their lifestyle of violence.”

Jongin doesn’t ask how and why Sehun knows all this – because he already knows. One of Sehun’s uncles had gotten involved with the yakuza when he was a teenager, and he’d lost his favourite aunt at the hands of the yakuza because his uncle wasn’t able to pay them back. For a while, he’d been obsessed with finding out everything he could about the yakuza. Sehun doesn’t like to talk about it much, and Jongin’s one of the few people in his life that knows about it all.

“If you’re right –”

“– then we have a lead,” Sehun finishes for him. The corner of his mouth lifts. “About time, huh?”

 

 

 

  
It turns out that Sehun’s right. Hani manages to match the daimon to a clan known colloquially as _Death’s Dance_. The clan is relatively new, established less than a decade ago under the Yamaguchi-gumi, and relies mainly on illegal gambling as its main source of income. While the yakuza as a whole rarely bothers with blood sports such as dog fighting rings and underground fight clubs, this new clan seems interested in capitalising on the small market.

With the lead they’ve been begging for finally in their hands, the team dive headfirst into the once freezing cold case. They track down a few of their confidential informants who have had ties to the yakuza – while most fail to provide them with solid intel, one manages to find out how details about the fights are spread around.

“They come to you. If you have the cash they want, and if they know you’ll be interested, they’ll reach out to you with the time and place. This occurs in the 24 hours before a fight starts, and those who have been invited aren’t allowed to leave during any of the three days unless they have a tracker placed on them. And I’ve been told that they run pretty intense background checks. So I dunno if you guys can do whatever it is that you guys usually do and get in, y’know.”

“He’s right,” Minho sighs. “We’re gonna have to find another way.”

“We know that these fights happen at the end of each month,” Johnny adds, “so maybe we could increase police presence at abandoned warehouses when the time nears? They have to set up, right? That takes time. These warehouses are in places where there aren’t a lot of street cameras or busy storefronts, so that should help in narrowing down the list.”

“Yeah, that’s a good place to start,” Sehun agrees. “We should also go back through whatever footage we do have of the areas around the past few crime scenes. Maybe we missed something.”

“We should also ask Minseok to contact other departments; maybe they have intel that can be useful to us.”

“Okay,” Jongin says, clapping his hands once. “We’ve got a ton of work to do, so let’s get to it, yeah?”

 

 

 

  
They’re close to giving up for what seems like the billionth time – for the past two weeks, they’ve been working themselves to the bone, pulling longer and longer hours at the office as the days go by. They’ve been working so much that Minseok’s had to order them to take the weekend off: “If I check the logs and I see that you’ve come in – even just to pick up a file – I will put you on probation.” Minseok doesn’t joke, so the team reluctantly agreed.

Sehun spends Saturday morning sleeping in. It’s almost noon when he wakes up, and he has a huge bowl of the unhealthiest cereal in his pantry before slipping into something comfortable and heading out. He’s got some things to settle at the bank, and he figures that he might as well waste an hour or two waiting in line.

He’s got an earbud snug in his ear and he’s scrolling absently through his Instagram feed when everything around him seems to plummet into chaos.

Shots are fired into the air, and Sehun almost instinctively goes for the small pistol strapped to his ankle when he counts six masked men, all decked out with semi-automatic weapons. His S&W Shield isn’t going to make it against all that firepower.

“Get down on the ground and no one will get hurt! Hands where I can see them! If anyone dares to try something stupid, I will shoot you!”

It’s like every robber who tries to carry out a bank heist reads from the same damn script, Sehun thinks. He slowly lowers himself to the ground, thumb discretely hitting the silent alarm button Hani had installed into the team’s phones. Since everyone’s off-duty today, it’ll take them a little while longer to respond, but Sehun has no doubts that his team will still be one of the first few responders on the scene.

“Ah ah ah; don’t even think about pressing on that silent alarm.”

One of the men’s got an AR-15 aimed at a teller’s head, and she whimpers before slinking down to the ground.

“Who’s the manager around here?”

 

 

 

  
Police arrive on the scene within six minutes, and Sehun lies on his stomach as he listens to a detective try and diffuse the situation through a megaphone. Three men have disappeared, presumably down at the vaults where they’re likely to be piling stacks of cash into duffle bags. If there wasn’t a rifle hanging so close to his face, Sehun would try and take them all down with the 7 rounds he’s got. But he is not Kim Jongin, and thus not a thrill-seeking maniac.

Sehun waits another three minutes.

Then, a small canister flies into the bank from one of the open skylights above. It clangs noisily against the marble floor a few times before it explodes – it’s a goddamn flashbang.

Everything explodes. Doors fly open, windows are smashed, and Sehun’s rolling onto his back and reaching for his weapon in seconds. He’s too used to all that noise – working with Jongin tends to do that to you.

But he barely has the chance to lift his weapon when something comes barrelling into him.

“Hey, are you okay? Are you hurt? Did they –”

“Oh my god, shut up,” Sehun groans, attempting to swat away a handful of Jongin. “I’m fine, okay? Just –”

Jongin gets to his feet, and it’s like things suddenly slip into slow-mo.

Sehun sees one of the robbers in the corner of his eye, sees how he’s lifting the rifle in his hands, sees the slight narrowing of his eyes as he takes aim. Before he can even register what he’s doing, Sehun’s lunging forward, knocking his partner to the ground and raising his own firearm as he does so.

He fires once. As he watches the bullet sink right into the chest of the robber, he feels a tight pressure seizing his arm before it fades and gives way to icy hot fire.

“Holy _fuck_ ,” he shouts, pushing himself off Jongin’s stunned frame. “Are you _fucking_ serious? You come in and you _don’t clear the area first?_ Do you have a fucking death wish? You actually have a death wish, don’t you? Holy shit –”

“You jumped –”

“Don’t talk,” Sehun snaps, turning around to glare at the blood oozing out of the bullet hole in his arm. “I don’t want to hear your voice for the next decade.”

“Clear!” He hears, and he lifts his head to see Minho walking towards him, amused expression plastered on his face. “What happened here?”

“What happened – _what happened here?_ ” Sehun repeats hotly, getting to his feet after holstering his gun. “This son of a bitch decided to _not clear the area_ before coming straight to me. If I didn’t push him out of the fucking way, he might very well be dead right now, because _you know why?! He didn’t clear the fucking room!_ ”

“You took a bullet for me,” Jongin says. Apparently, Sehun’s words seem to go in one ear and right out the other. He sounds a little dazed, wonderment creeping in around his voice.

Sehun rolls his eyes and elbows his way past the two men in search of a paramedic.

“I fucking hate my life,” he declares.

 

 

 

  
Sehun spends all of Sunday locked up at home, glaring balefully at the television as he his arm throbs and burns underneath all those bandages. He’s just about to swallow another couple of painkillers when someone knocks on his door.

When he opens it, he spends a couple of seconds just staring at Jongin’s face. Then, he sighs and backs away to let him in.

“I turned my phone off for a reason,” he mutters, shutting the door.

“Yeah, but did you really think a dead phone is enough to stop me?”

Sehun pinches the bridge of his nose. “Why are you here?”

“To check on you. How’s the pain?”

“Bearable until you got here.”

Jongin gives him a look.

“Look, I’m sorry I got you shot, alright? I was just a little worried, and I wasn’t thinking straight when I got in there. I didn’t know what the situation was like, and I was assuming the worst. What if you tried to diffuse the situation but they shot you? What if you tried to do something heroic and they shot you? What if they found out you’re an FBI agent and decided to hold you for ransom? What if –”

“Hey,” Sehun interrupts, extending a placating hand. “I get it. You were worried.”

A wrinkle pops up between Jongin’s eyebrows. “I just – I’m usually with you, okay? During these situations. And I wasn’t there to back you up.”

“I didn’t voluntarily go into that situation myself, Jongin. It’s not your fault. It’s okay. A busted arm is much better than a dead partner.”

“You couldn’t have known that the bullet would land in your arm and not anywhere else.”

There’s a Heavy Question™ hidden somewhere in that statement, and Sehun really doesn’t want to deal with Heavy Questions™ right now, so he turns on his heel and walks into the kitchen.

“Sehun.”

“What?”

“You literally risked your life for me.”

“Do you have a question to ask me or are you just really fond of stating statements?”

“ _My question is_ ,” Jongin stresses, jaw tense, “is _why_ you risked your life for me.”

“You’re my partner,” Sehun answers, just like he’s been practicing in preparation for this goddamn question.

“Partners don’t _die_ for each other,” Jongin says, “they have each other’s backs. Having a partner isn’t code for giving up your life just to make sure your partner survives, it’s trying your best to prevent your partner from dying via _reasonable methods._ ”

“Look who's talking about reasonable methods.” He grabs a can of soda – he doesn’t even _like_ soda, he just needs to do something with his hands or he’ll punch a hole through the wall – and walks back out to the living room.

“For fuck’s sakes, Sehun, I know –”

“I don’t want to talk about this, alright?” Sehun says sharply, one finger pointed skyward. “I repeat, I do not want to talk about it.”

Jongin stands in the hallway, back ramrod straight, and Sehun keeps his eyes trained on his television screen.

“Hey,” Jongin tries, voice softer. “You know I’d do the same, right?”

Would he?

“Yeah,” Sehun exhales, suddenly weary. “I know.”

Jongin walks over and sinks onto the couch, arm pressed up against Sehun’s good one. They sit and watch whatever’s playing on the television, grateful for the noise it provides. When Sehun finally gives in to himself, he leans against his partner’s shoulder, rests his heavy head on the solidness beneath it. When Jongin reaches out to squeeze his thigh, Sehun closes his eyes and lets wistful dreams overtake him.

 

 

 

  
It takes Sehun three weeks to be cleared for full service, and in that time they’ve managed to track down a potential suspect. He was horribly hard to find, but Hani has one of the sharpest set of eyes known to mankind, and she’d succeeded in spotting him lurking around the warehouses a few days before the fight club arrives. They didn’t have much to go on in terms of identifying him – he keeps his head lowered, snapback covering his eyes, and he’s always clad in long pants and a hoodie, so any form of body identification (e.g. tattoos) wouldn’t have worked. But he’s on his phone a lot, and from what they could tell, he uses the same phone each time. So Hani, bless her soul, goes through all the calls that pinged off the nearby cell towers for each day the guy’s in the area, and after days of computation, she’d found a name and a face.

“We should tail Nomura for a while,” Minho suggests, fiddling with a pen. “At least until we determine if he’s scoping out a potential venue for the fight club. We still have a bit of time before the end of the month, and he might lead us back to the ringleader.”

“I agree,” Minseok says. “It’s best to get as much information as possible. I’d like to avoid authorizing a raid of an empty warehouse as a result of bad intel. It’s also best to know what you’re up against; the number of people that will be present at the fight club, the number of victims, security measures, and so forth. I’m sure I don’t have to remind you all to be careful out there.”

Sehun shoots Jongin a pointed look; the latter waggles his eyebrows in response.

“We’ll swap pairs and vehicles three times daily,” Minseok continues, “to minimize the chances of him recognizing that he’s being followed.”

“Yeah, that’s a good idea,” Sehun says, rolling out the tightness in his shoulder. “And I'm not taking the midnight shift."

 

 

 

  
Round the clock surveillance is probably one of the most mind-numbingly painful tasks that a law enforcement officer can possibly do. Over the next two weeks, they pull eight hour shifts, with Minho getting the dreaded midnight shift, paired up with whichever MPDC cop is available and on duty that night. Sehun and Jongin take over when Minho tags out, and they struggle against the lull of sleep in the car as the city wakes up around them and gears up for the day. When Seulgi and Johnny take over at 4 p.m., Sehun and Jongin split up for the rest of the day. No matter how close you are with someone, being stuck in a car with them for eight hours in a row can be a little overwhelming.

During their break, Sehun tends to head over to the gym and spar with a few people, stopping only when his muscles are screaming at him and sweat is compromising the grip that his feet have on the mats. Jongin goes for a ten mile run around the city, and they meet back up at Sehun’s house when the sun starts to set for a meal and a few hours sprawled out bonelessly on the couch, television blaring. Then they’ll sleep, Jongin in the guest room, until it’s time to head out and replace Minho.

It’s their Stakeout Schedule, one that they’ve perfected over the past few years, and one that should be kept to a T – the both of them are very aware of that. So when Jongin doesn’t show up at Sehun’s place after his run like he usually does, the hairs on the back of Sehun’s neck start to prickle.

He calls Jongin, and the second he hears the start of Jongin’s voicemail message, he hangs up and calls Hani.

“Can you track Jongin’s phone?”

Hani doesn’t even ask why, and Sehun listens intently to the sounds of her nails hitting the keys on her keyboard.

“His phone’s off.”

“Where was it last located?”

Hani sends him the coordinates, and in the next thirty seconds, Sehun’s in his car and speeding down the road. Knuckles white from how he’s gripping the wheel much too tightly, he manages to shave the half hour journey down to twenty minutes.

It takes him longer than he would’ve liked to find a sign of Jongin’s presence – the half-empty water bottle lies close to an exposed tree root, and he almost forgets to pick it up with a glove.

“Jongin’s been taken,” he says, executing a sharp U-turn and heading back towards headquarters. He’s got the rest of the team on speakerphone.

“Shit,” Minho grunts, sounding like he’s just woken up. “How do you know?”

“He didn’t come over, and his phone’s been turned off. I just left the place where it was last pinged, and I found his water bottle on the ground. I’m taking it back to the lab to get it analyzed now. No proof that the yakuza took him, but my gut is telling me otherwise.”

“What do you need us to do?”

“Stick to the plan,” Sehun says. His voice sounds calm, but his mind is whirring, and it’s so hard to focus on driving properly. “I let you guys know if I need anything.”

He hangs up before anyone else has a chance to argue, foot pressing down on the accelerator. He’s scared. God, he’s so scared.

 

 

 

  
The bottle only had Jongin’s fingerprints and DNA on it.

Sighing, Sehun knocks on Hani’s door and pushes it open without waiting for an acknowledgement.

“I’m gonna have to commandeer your computer for a moment,” he says, producing a memory stick from his pocket.

“Sure?”

He hits a few keys, and a map of the city springs up on the screen.

“What is this?” Hani asks, appearing right by his shoulder. “Why does this look like – oh my god. _You put trackers on us?_ ”

“Wasn’t my idea,” Sehun answers, eyes darting all over the screen to look for his partner’s name. “Was Minseok. His idea, his execution, his everything. I just thought it was a good contingency, and told him as such.”

“How? When?”

“Our latest physical. Remember that injection we got near our wrists?” Sehun says. “Fuck, where the _fuck_ is he?”

“How does the tracker work?”

“Sends out data every hour. It’s volatile, though. Any major spikes in hormonal levels or blood pressure or anything like that can alter the signals. Takes a while for it to settle down.”

“While I don’t approve of this,” Hani says, waving her hand at the screen, “being done without our knowledge, I will admit that it has its uses. I’ll keep watch over it, let you know when his tracker resurfaces.”

Sehun slumps a little, shoulders hunching inwards and aching from all the stress placed on them.

“Yeah, alright. I’m just gonna – go back to work.”

“Hey, he’ll be okay. He’s tough and smart, he won’t go down without a fight.”

“Yeah, I know, I just –” He pauses, and Hani looks at him sympathetically. Sehun really hates that look. “I can’t let anything happen to him.”

“We’ll get him back.”

Sehun hangs on to that like a lifeline.

 

 

 

The next few days are comprised of fitful sleep, too much caffeine, and constant fidgeting. It’s worse during the nights, because nothing’s there to distract him from all the horrible images that pop up in his mind’s eye. Wanting to avoid those thoughts, Sehun keeps himself awake for as long as possible, only crashing when he’s sure that the tiredness will overpower the part of his brain that insists on feeding him with worst case scenarios.

Five days before the end of the month, Hani calls him with news at 2 a.m. He’s still wide awake, and he answers on the first ring.

“His tracker’s back on. I’ve sent you the address, but Minseok wants the team to report to the office before you guys do anything.”

“I’m on my way.”

The roads are blessedly empty at this time of night, and he gets to the office without once taking his foot off the accelerator.

“You look like shit,” Seulgi informs him when she walks in. She looks like she could use some sleep herself, but Sehun knows he looks like he’s been run over by ten freighter trains. He shrugs helplessly, and lets his body relax somewhat when she wraps her arms around his shoulders.

“His tracker’s active,” she says, and Sehun inhales her familiar scent of magnolias and cinnamon in an attempt to ground himself. “He’s alive.”

“For now,” he croaks, and disengages from the hug before she can feel his body trembling.

Minseok emerges from his office and gestures for everyone to gather around him.

“I’ve spoken to the higher-ups, and they want to make sure that we have enough evidence to convict. You’re not going to like this, but that means that Jongin will have to –”

“Fuck that,” Sehun interrupts, “I’m not letting him spend one second in that fight club. Are you fucking kidding me?”

“It’s the only way we can ensure that –”

“You want him to fight just so he can testify? How can you possibly guarantee that he’d survive a fight? You’re –”

“ _It’s not my decision!_ ” Minseok yells, a palm slamming against the wall. “If it were up to me I’d have all of you go get him out right now, but it’s not! They want indisputable proof that the fight club exists; they want as much evidence as possible, they want to catch them in the act. I know that somewhere in your head, you understand why they want this. It’s shitty, I know, but it’s the best chance we have of taking this clan down.”

“Okay,” Minho says, shooting a sideways glance at Sehun just to make sure he wouldn’t reach out and throttle their boss. “There are two warehouses within a ten-mile radius of the address that Hani sent us; we’ll keep an eye on both of them, see which one is most likely going to be the location for the fight. The guy we’ve been tailing has been spending a lot more time hanging around the first one, so odds are it’ll be held there. We’ll check both locations just to be sure. On the second night of the fight, we’ll go in and shut it down the second the fight begins.”

Minseok nods stiffly. “Yes, that sounds good.”

Sehun simply turns around and leaves, angry tears threatening to surge forward. Sometimes, he really fucking hates his job.

 

 

 

  
With Sehun too angry at the world, the rest of the team step up to the plate. Minho and Johnny scout both warehouses for any signs of the yakuza’s presence, with Seulgi on a rooftop, rifle at the ready to back them up should things go south. They find an intact piece of paper tucked into a rusty windowsill of one of the warehouses, the daimon of _Death’s Dance_ fluttering at them almost tauntingly.

“Has to be this one,” Johnny says, taking a photo of the daimon with his phone.

“Yeah, but we should check back again tomorrow just to make sure this isn’t a decoy.”

They’ve got two days before the fight club is supposed to start, and they have to be sure of everything in order to coordinate with the MPDC and the SWAT team. So over the next 48 hours, they stick to tailing Nomura, and manage to get some picture of him with a group of other men standing in front of a truck near the warehouse.

“Setting up?” Johnny asks, peering into the binoculars.

“Most likely,” Minho replies.

“Someone needs to make sure Sehun doesn’t try and crash it tonight,” Johnny adds.

“Yeah, I’m on that,” Hani says. “Watching his tracker signal like a hawk. He’s currently at home; street cams show that he’s practically burning a hole into his floor, with how much he’s been pacing.”

“He’d probably kill everyone involved if it was up to him,” Seulgi sighs. “I would not want to be on the receiving side of his anger _ever_.”

“It’s not pleasant,” Minho agrees, pulling a face at a distant memory.

“Y’all watch his back tomorrow, alright?”

“We will.”

 

 

 

  
“Hey, what are you doing? Backup is six minutes out, just –”

“Do I look like I have the patience to wait for backup?” Sehun snarls, strapping on his bulletproof vest and slotting additional ammo into his pockets. “I’m going in, you guys can either come with me or wait out here.”

“Hey!” Seulgi shouts, irritated. “I might be a great shot, but I cannot kill a hundred people at once, you fucker. Just _wait_!”

Sehun ignores her and slings his HK416 rifle across his chest. When he starts striding towards the warehouse, Minho swears and follows, checking to make sure his gun’s loaded as he jogs after his teammate.

“I’m gonna die, aren’t I?” Johnny says sadly, following the two men.

“Party’s up front,” Seulgi says, scope trained on one of the bouncers standing by the front door. There’s really no point arguing with Sehun when he’s in this state. Might as well try to keep that idiot alive. “Back is quiet.”

Sehun pauses at the backdoor of the warehouse, back to the wall. He signals for Minho to follow him to the front door, and for Johnny to wait until they’ve breached the front before he enters through the back.

“SWAT is two minutes out,” Hani tells them.

With two crooks of his fingers, Sehun rounds the corner with Minho on his heels.

“Four bouncers right by the door,” Seulgi says. “I have a shot on the one closest to the south wall, and I can probably get the one next to him too. The other two, however, will be up to you.”

“We need to enter quickly,” Minho whispers. “I’m pretty sure they have more manpower than just four bodyguards.”

“There’s a wall dividing the entrance from the rest of the warehouse,” Seulgi offers. “From what I can see, the ring is right behind that partition. The infrared sensor shows more than fifty bodies in the main room.”

“We’ll take these four down,” Sehun says, “then head for cover. We’ll just have to wing it from there.”

“ETA on SWAT; 30 seconds!”

At Sehun’s nod, Seulgi fires a shot, and the first bodyguard falls limply to the ground. Minho kicks the door in, and each bodyguard receives two taps to the head. They rush towards the wall, backs slamming against the plaster.

“Incoming,” Seulgi says. There are shouts coming from the inside, some frantic and other angry. The barrel of a gun appears in front of Sehun’s eyes, and he reaches out to grab it, elbow slamming down on the guy’s arm, forcing him to let go. Minho shoots him between the eyes.

SWAT enters, masked men of quiet death. With them there, Sehun finally lets his pent-up emotions run free.

 

 

 

  
Johnny leads a small SWAT team through the back, navigating the dark hallways before arriving at a room that smells horribly of human filth and dried blood. There are shots being fired out in the front, a seemingly endless barrage of bullets. There are shouts of pain, yells of fear, and the slamming of bodies into walls, into chairs, into anything hard. He hopes that his teammates are still alive.

“Holy shit,” he mutters, when his eyes adjust to the lack of light. There are what seems to be a dozen human-sized cages all around him, defeated silhouettes just visible in the dark. SWAT quickly takes care of the two men standing guard by a door, and Johnny turns on the torchlight attached to his gun.

“Johnny?”

The beam of light swings through the room before it lands on Jongin’s bloodied face. He’s got a black eye, the socket so swollen that his eye’s forced shut. He’s got a busted lip, multiple cuts all down his bare torso. One’s deep enough to require stitches, dried blood the only thing staunching the flow. The sheer amount of bruises down the man’s body nearly brings bile rising up into Johnny’s throat.

“Shit,” he says, rushing forward and fumbling with the lock on Jongin’s cage.

Someone passes him a pair of bolt cutters, and Johnny nearly drops it with fumbling fingers.

“Where’s Sehun?”

“In the front,” Johnny replies, reaching out and letting Jongin fall into him. MPDC’s swarming about the room now, helping the other prisoners out and cataloging everything they see.

“I need to –”

“You need to see a paramedic,” Johnny says firmly, holding Jongin upright as they make their way out of the warehouse.

“But he’s –”

“He’s got Minho in there with him, Seulgi on the roof, and not to mention, SWAT. He’s fine.”

When Johnny finally gets Jongin to settle down with a paramedic, he grits his teeth and heads back into the fray.

 

 

 

  
He’s got a fucking bullet in his thigh, but Sehun barely registers the pain as he rests all of his weight on that leg and kicks out with the other, shin colliding solidly with the asshole’s chest. _This close_ to plunging his trusty Ka-Bar into the guy’s chest, Sehun reluctantly lets SWAT cuff him and take him away.

Amongst the chaos, he’d lost his rifle, got beaten up a little (okay, maybe more than a little), and nearly lost an arm when one of the yakuza charged right at him with a tomahawk. It takes him a moment to realize that the warehouse is finally clear of the yakuza and the gamblers – all the people remaining are law enforcement, mostly crime scene techs standing around as they try and make sense of what they’re seeing.

Someone comes up to him and places a hand on his shoulder. Sehun jumps a mile into the air, arm reflexively coming out to elbow the guy’s throat, before he sees that it’s Minho, looking just as on edge as he feels.

“Shit, sorry.”

“Johnny found Jongin. He’s receiving medical attention right now. He’ll be okay.”

“Oh,” Sehun utters. “Okay. Great. Uh, where’s the ringleader?”

“I think Minseok’s got him outside,” Minho says. “Hey, wait up –!”

 

 

 

  
Jongin feels the heat of Sehun’s presence even before he hears or sees him. Eyes snapping to the entrance of the warehouse, he watches with wide eyes as Sehun stalks out of the building, making a beeline towards Minseok and the guy he’s cuffing.

There’s a surprised shout from Minseok when Sehun reaches out and grabs the perp by the collar, yanking him out of Minseok’s grasp and slamming him up against the wall of the warehouse.

“Ever been part of those fights you love to host?”

Jongin can barely make out what Sehun’s saying, ears straining to pick up his voice.

“Let’s give you a taste of your own medicine, yeah?”

The only thing stopping Jongin from running over to his partner is the grip that the paramedic has on his arm. So he stays where he is, mouth hanging open in shock as he watches Sehun’s punches rain down on the guy’s face. No one dares to approach them, to get into the line of fire – for a few moments, everyone simply stares at the FBI agent currently beating a member of the yakuza to within an inch of his life.

Then, Minho shoves his way past a few cops and manages to grab Sehun by the shoulders. Sehun struggles, of course he does, but Minho’s able to pull him away from the guy without getting hurt himself.

The yakuza member is lugged off, spluttering blood as he’s shoved into a car, and Sehun finally wrenches himself out of Minho’s grasp. He slams his fist into the wall, brushes off Minho’s placating arm, and turns towards Jongin. Jongin feels his mouth go dry.

The blazing anger in Sehun’s eyes switches to aching worry in the span of 0.02 seconds, and it makes Jongin’s head spin. Strong hands come to cradle his face, oh-so-gentle, and Jongin swallows. A thumb swipes gently at the swell of his busted eye, across the arc of his cheekbone and down to the jut of his lip.

“I was so –” The space between Sehun’s brows pucker, and he leans forward to press their foreheads together. “God, I thought you –”

He lurches away suddenly, and Jongin starts in alarm when Sehun doubles over near a car and retches up what looks like bile. He wants to get up, wants to go over to his partner, but the paramedic nudges him further back into the ambulance, calling for another medic to come and tend to Sehun.

“Wait,” Jongin tries desperately. “Let me go to him.”

“You need to get to the hospital,” the medic says. “Judging from these bruises, there could be internal bleeding. He’ll be brought to the same hospital, so you’ll see him there, alright?”

Jongin knows arguing is futile at this point, so he leans back against the stretcher and squeezes his eyes shut.

 

 

 

“How is he?”

Jongin struggles against the heaviness of his eyelids, but he can’t seem to open them. Floating somewhere in the mist of drugged sleep, he keeps his ears trained on that familiar voice.

“The worst injuries are a few cracked ribs, a fractured patella, and that laceration down his side that got infected. There was also mild internal bleeding in his abdomen, but we’ve got that dealt with. We’re tending to the infection now, and it’s responding well to medication. I would like to keep him for observation for a week, at the very least.”

“Of course. Thank you.”

A chair’s pulled out and set next to his bed, and Jongin hears the sound of someone settling into it before a warm hand picks up his own. He tries to squeeze back, but not a single part of his body seems to be responding to his wants.

Sleep’s calling out to him now, and the last thing Jongin registers before he knocks out is the solidity of the hand wrapped around his.

 

 

 

  
The room’s lights are dimmed when he finally opens his eyes. Swallowing whatever spit he manages to gather in his mouth in an attempt to soothe the dryness in his throat, Jongin casts his gaze around. It lands on a dozing Sehun, long frame folded uncomfortably into that stiff-looking chair. There’s a bandage wrapped around his thigh, and multiple butterfly closures applied all over his body.

He tries to say Sehun’s name, but his throat isn’t cooperating. So he clears it, quite forcefully, and ultimately ends up waking Sehun anyway.

“Hey,” Sehun says, voice soft with sleep. “You’re up. Water?”

Jongin nods, and in a flash, there’s a straw positioned by his lips. He drinks greedily, and Sehun dabs a drop of water off the corner of his mouth when he’s done.

“Sehun?”

“Yeah, buddy?”

“I love you.”

Sehun stops moving, eyes wide as he stares open-mouthed at his bedridden partner.

“What?”

“I love you,” Jongin repeats easily.

“You – you can’t just _say_ stuff like that,” Sehun says weakly, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“Well, I’ve been wanting to for the past year or so,” Jongin says, “and to be honest, it’s been really hard keeping it in over the past couple of months.”

He pauses, studies the nervous look on Sehun’s face, and feels his facial muscles pull his lips into a soft smile.

“You and I,” he says, wagging a finger between the two of them, “have been idiots for so long. I know you love me too. You do _so much_ for me, and the way you look at me sometimes; god, if I don’t look away, my knees would give out on the spot. Whenever I needed you, you would give me every part of you. Sure, we argue like we’re kids, but it works. _We_ work.”

“But,” Sehun says, fingers clenched in his lap. “New York?”

“I brought it up because I was hoping it would plant the idea of _you_ moving to New York with me into your brain,” Jongin admits, grinning sheepishly. “Did it work?”

“Did it work? No it didn’t work! All it did was make me fucking sad at the thought of you leaving!”

Jongin frowns. “Huh. I didn’t think that through, I guess.”

“You guess,” Sehun echoes, sounding a little dazed. "Unbelievable."

“I fought because I wanted to be able to see you again,” Jongin continues quietly. “The fight club – it’s fight to the death, did you know? No matter how long the fight takes, it only ends if one person dies. I killed someone in there, someone who didn’t deserve to die. With my bare hands, Sehun. I broke his neck. The cheers I received – fuck, it was horrible. But I did it because I wanted to stay alive. I knew you would find me, that you’d come for me. So I fought to stay alive, so I would still be around when you did. Hey, look at me.”

Jongin waits until their eyes lock before he reaches out. Sehun meets him halfway, fingers warm as they thread through the spaces between Jongin’s.

“I was… a horrible person. When you were missing. I snapped at Minseok, disregarded orders, and put the lives of our teammates in danger. The tunnel vision was so bad; I’ve never acted so selfishly before. I couldn’t sleep; sat in your driveway for a whole night, once. The migraines came back. I wanted to do everything, but there was nothing I could’ve done. I just… needed you safe.”

“I know,” Jongin says.

“I don’t know what I’m doing,” Sehun confesses. “I’ve never felt this way towards anyone before. I don’t even think I know what it means to love someone. I don’t like it when people leave, but I can move on, with time. But with you, I don’t think I can. I don’t – I don’t know _what to do_. All I got is that I know you cannot leave. I know I need you to stay. Everything else, I –”

“Everything else I will help you with,” Jongin cuts in. “We’ll figure it out, like we always do.”

“Like we always do,” Sehun repeats, as if it’ll turn into a mantra.

“Can you kiss me?”

“I don’t want to hurt you,” Sehun says, reaching out to thumb at the healing cut on Jongin’s bottom lip.

“It won’t hurt.”

Sehun snorts, but scoots closer and leans down just enough to brush their lips together. Jongin wants more, but he knows when not to push. There are apologetic kisses being planted all over his face – Sehun avoids the bruised eye –, so Jongin figures that it’s not that much of a loss.

 

 

 

  
Jongin’s discharged after ten days, and Sehun promptly whisks him out of the hospital and to his house. The familiarity of Sehun’s home settles like a warm compress around Jongin’s heart, and he flops onto the couch with a dopey grin on his face.

“I missed this place.”

“It missed you too,” Sehun replies, dropping a chaste kiss on the edge of the now yellowing bruise on Jongin’s cheekbone.

The rest of the team’s scheduled to come over for dinner in celebration of Jongin’s discharge. Not wanting to run out of time, Sehun starts cooking as soon as he gets Jongin settled. He immediately shoots down Jongin’s offer to help, so Jongin settles for perching on a bar stool and watching as the other man bustles about in the kitchen.

Dinner’s a merry affair, everyone smushed around the dining table as they fill their bellies with food and beer (Jongin doesn’t get to have beer, sadly, thanks to all the pills he has to take).

Sehun keeps a watchful eye on Jongin throughout the meal, left hand never leaving the small of his back. He thumbs absently at the sliver of exposed skin between Jongin’s waistband and the hem of his shirt, and Jongin leans willingly into the touch. Distracted by the food and each other’s presence, neither seem to notice the knowing looks that their teammates send each other.

Hani’s the last one to leave. They linger at the front door, watching as she climbs into her hot pink pickup truck and drives away.

“You tired?” Sehun asks, looking down at Jongin. “In any pain?”

“I’m alright,” he says, turning back towards the house. “Join me on the couch?”

Sehun locks the door and sets the alarm before heading over to the couch, where he sinks into the plush cushions next to Jongin. They trade tentative smiles, hands resting in the space between their bodies, fingers barely brushing.

“How’s the cut on my lip looking?” Jongin asks, looking over.

“Scab is falling off,” Sehun answers. “Healing well, it seems.”

“That’s good right?” Jongin waits for Sehun curious nod. “Great, so can I have that kiss now?”

Sehun can’t think of any reason to say no, nor does he want to. Leaning in, he bumps noses with Jongin, smiling when Jongin laughs, and tilts his head to press their mouths together. It’s been awhile since he’s slept with anyone, much less kissed, so he lets Jongin take the lead as he reacquaints himself to the feel of stubble under his lips, the clean musk of Jongin’s skin.

When the tip of Jongin’s tongue catches on the swell of his bottom lip, Sehun feels his breath hitch and his lips part. He feels the wet slide of Jongin’s tongue against his teeth, light against the roof of his tongue, warm against his own. Fingers creep up Sehun’s back to bury themselves in the strands of hair at his nape, and Sehun presses into Jongin a little more.

It’s so easy to lose yourself in a kiss, so Sehun’s more than a little surprised when he feels Jongin’s hands slip underneath his shirt and roam upwards. He nearly bites down on Jongin’s lip when a thumb brushes over a nipple, and he pulls away with wide eyes. Jongin looks at him guardedly.

“You okay?”

“I’m… okay. Are you…”

“Sure that this will all work out? Not totally. Do I want to give us a shot? Most definitely. Am I confident in what I feel for you? A hundred percent.”

“Right,” Sehun says. “Alright then. But today, you can’t exert yourself. Your ribs and knee – let me take care of you, okay?”

 

 

 

  
Sehun places Jongin’s hand firmly on his head as he gently rids him of his sweatpants.

“Feel free to tug on my hair,” he says. “Just don’t pull out any strands.”

When Jongin’s fingers start tugging obediently, Sehun pulls Jongin’s dick out of his boxers and gives it an experimental stroke. It’s already hard, head glistening with smeared pre-come.

“Okay?”

“Yeah, fuck, so okay.”

So Sehun rises up on his knees – the gunshot wound in his thigh is probably gonna start aching halfway through, but fuck it all – and dips his head to take Jongin into his mouth. He’s given head a grand total of two times in his life, and this easily tops that small list. Jongin’s a nice weight on his tongue, not too bitter, and the velvety softness of his skin is a nice bonus. A glance upwards tells him that Jongin’s a little dazed, mouth open and eyes blown as he stares, transfixed at the sight of Sehun’s lips wrapped around his cock.

Sehun swallows Jongin down inch by inch, cheeks hollowed and tongue flat against the underside until the tip hits the back of his throat. He cups Jongin’s balls with a hand, presses the flat of his finger against the perineum, and sucks.

Jongin nearly rips a handful of hair out.

It gets a little messy, especially when Jongin tries to fuck up into the heat of Sehun’s mouth. But they soldier on, Sehun flicking his tongue over the slit, dragging it up along the thick vein, swirling it around the head. He mouths down the insides of Jongin’s thighs, at his balls, up his treasure trail.

When Sehun finally lets all of Jongin down his throat, Jongin comes with a chorus of Sehun’s name and twitching hips. Sehun holds him down as he sucks all the come out of him, wanting to minimize any movement that could aggravate his injuries.

“Get up here,” Jongin says, voice sex-hoarse.

Sehun lets Jongin lick the taste of himself out of his mouth before he pulls away. Jongin’s eyes are lidded, a nice flush riding high on his cheekbones. He’s gorgeous, and Sehun plants another kiss on those plush lips before rising to his feet. His thigh is throbbing and his knees are sore, but Sehun couldn’t care less.

“C’mere, let me help you,” Jongin mumbles.

“I’m okay,” Sehun says. “You need to rest. I’ll be here when you wake up, okay?”

“But –”

“Hey, we have time to figure all this out. Rest.”

Jongin’s out like a light in a matter of seconds.

 

 

 

  
Sentenced to desk duty until his ribs and knee heal, Jongin spends a good amount of time at the office grumbling and pouting. At least it gets him some kisses, he thinks, gazing besottedly at his partner.

“Stop it with the heart eyes,” Seulgi barks, tossing a wad of paper at him. “Some of us are trying to work here.”

“It is quite distracting,” Sehun mumbles, cheeks pink.

They’re all saved from Jongin’s indignant response when their phones ring.

“Oh, new case!” Johnny exclaims in obvious relief, jumping up to his feet and grabbing his gear. “Gotta go, bye Jongin!”

Minho laughs all the way out the door, and Seulgi is the only one who actually answers the phone for details of the case.

“Sorry,” Sehun says, leaning over to give Jongin a quick kiss. “I’ll wrap things up as fast as I can, alright?”

Jongin simply sighs and waves Sehun off.

“Stay safe,” he calls. “I’m not there to watch your back!”

“You mean you’re not there to put me in more danger?” Sehun teases, and Jongin gives him the finger along with an affectionate grin.

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! Happy (Belated) New Year :)
> 
> 1: I very much intend on adding to this AU (which is why I made it into a series); I have plans to write a series of snapshots that allow readers insights into the characters' backgrounds, past experiences, 'missing' scenes in the main fic, etc.  
> 2: Just in case anyone's wondering, I envision Sekai to be 28-29 years of age in this fic; fic is set in Washington, DC.  
> 3: If you have questions, feel free to ask them! But odds are that they'll be answered in the snapshots that are upcoming!  
> 4: Several things in the fic are actually real; e.g. the nightclub, the existence of the Yamaguchi-gumi, etc.  
> 5: Did anyone notice the little foreshadow I put at the beginning of the fic hehe
> 
>  
> 
> [Click for Links!](https://bluedveins.wixsite.com/evoxine)


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